The Puppeteer
by PlrtzGlrb
Summary: The 25th Anniversary of the War approaches, and Katniss has a visitor.


**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. No-thing.

**A/N**: I finished the books a few days ago, and I can't help thinking that something was missing. I haven't been able to get this scene out of my head.

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This is not the life I imagined.

I wake in the morning when he comes to me. I savor the smell of warm bread, nutty and whole and good. A thin strip of sunlight peeks through the drawn curtains and forces me to shut my eyes as soon as they've opened. I stretch beneath the sheets like a cat, the flesh on my back itches against the cotton fabric of my sleeping shirt, and the hair on my legs glides smoothly against the silky sheets.

"Mommy," the boy says. His eyes peek over the edge of my large bed. They are wide and electric. They stir my soul into feeling. I love this boy. I was never supposed to.

I flash him a smile and mess his thick, blonde curls with my fingers. The scars are still there, telling me that this should not be mine. "Did your father tell you that you could wake me?"

He giggles. "Willow made me promise not to tell."

"Willow," I say loudly, causing another, distant giggle to erupt, "should be in school by now. Where's your father?"

"Daddy's in the kitchen. He told me not to wake you but Willow and me really want to ask you a question."

I sit up now, push the sheets back, and lift Rye into my lap. "Willow," I call. She peeks her head from behind the door and comes to me with her tail between her legs. There is so much of Prim in her. Her dark hair falls in thick, long curtains around her face; she only allows me to braid it for school and on special occasions. Her shirt is untucked, and her young face holds a kind of Prim-like determination.

I have called her by that name before. Only once or twice. On those days, I choked on the air and I hid from my children like my own mother had long ago. My mother, who I had so resented for what I can only describe now as understandable behavior. She rarely visits us these days, and when she does, I can tell that it's too much for her. I can't hold it against her, though. It takes everything in me to face them with unflinching love, to give them the bright and unburdened world that was forever lost to me. Most days I win that battle. But the war is never over.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"There's a funny looking lady from the Capitol downstairs. And school got cancelled."

I don't bother to pull on a robe. I'm down the stairs before Willow or Rye can even protest.

"What are you doing here?" I demand more than ask.

"Don't worry, I turned down Peeta's offer of fresh biscuits." There's an air of whimsy about her. I look to Peeta for some indication of our current situation, but he appears bored. He chews on the inside of his cheek while he butters the hot bread. Now I am confused.

"Has there been an uprising?"

"No, nothing like that," Johanna says dismissively. "Paylor sent me to ask you a favor. I don't know why she thought you'd listen to _me_, but as per usual, I really had no say in the matter."

Peeta shoots me a look before carrying a tray of juice and bread into the other room. He calls for Willow and Rye, and they follow him out of earshot.

"They're writing a constitution."

"A what?" The word has no meaning to me. In the years following the War, many words like this began to creep their way into conversation. It took five years for me to agree to even speak with any of them. Johanna was the first to get through. I suppose the bond between victors is the kind that can't be broken, no matter how strained.

"It's a kind of document, legally binding, that defines the limits of the government for future generations."

I nod. This is exactly what has been missing. A set of rules to prevent those in power from taking advantage of the citizens of Panem. "So what do they want from me?"

Johanna is silent for a moment. She looks me dead in the eyes and flexes her jaw. Of course, I already know what they want. "Your face," she says.

It's been almost 25 years, but I'm still the only Mockingjay they've got. I walk over to the sink and turn the tap to fill a glass with water. I go to drink it but place it on the counter. "Tell Paylor I'll think about it."

"Bullshit. The anniversary's coming up. We haven't got much t—"

"I said I'll think about it."

"Listen," she says. Johanna stands and moves until her face is inches from mine. As she speaks, I am distracted by the pointed, gold-plated teeth the Capitol had filed as a symbol of her victory before forcing her into sex slavery. "I get that you're still angry. And you have every right to be. I'd have been the last person to believe that anything good — and I mean anything — could have come from this mess. But this isn't another game. It's a piece of paper, and if you help us, it could fix everything."

"Well, forgive me if I'm still a little skeptical. Would you like a sandwich for the road?"

She takes a step back and shakes her head. She should know me well enough by now to understand that my cynicism is innate. It's not something I can shake. Where the Capitol is involved, there are always strings, and with strings come puppetteers. "Thank you for the hospitality, Peeta," she calls over her shoulder. She shoots me a final warning look before heading for the hovercraft parked out front. I catch a glimpse of the new symbol of Panem as she boards. A mockingjay, silver and blue and red. Flying free.

I know that it can only be me.

"Wait," I call. The craft is two feet in the air by now, but Johanna tells the driver to come back.

When they land and Johanna opens the door, I stare at her blankly. "Speak," she insists. I snap back into it.

"Who's writing it?" This should have been my first question. "I want to know who's pulling the strings."

She flashes me a bright, toothy smile. "I think that's a question for your husband."

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**A/N: **Reviews are appreciated. Thanks for reading!


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